


Lucky

by FrostysaurusRekt



Series: Balaclava [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, Fingering, Intersex Character, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Modified A/B/O, Omega Jesse, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9625463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostysaurusRekt/pseuds/FrostysaurusRekt
Summary: “Yeah,” He rumbles, muffled by the pillow. He turns his head to the side, trying to look down the length of his body to see Hanzo laying prettily between his legs. “Yeah, I’m good.”“May I continue?”-A McHanzo oneshot within a modified A/B/O Universe





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modified A/B/O universe. It still uses heat cycles and ruts, but displayed in a different fashion.

The kitchen counter, while not the most sanitary of all surfaces, is blissfully cool against Jesse’s heated cheek.

He was a fool to believe that he could push the limits of his aching body to grab something as simple as a cup of coffee after his shower, his body betraying him as soon as the percolator began to boil, doubling him over with vicious cramps that felt like hands twisting at his insides. The perfect way to start his morning.

Beside his head is an empty glass, once filled with water and offered to him while he tried to muster up the will to combat the cramping. Jesse would always be thankful for Hana’s lack of pestering after she found him in such a state. She didn’t question it, didn’t prod him, she just poured him a glass of water and wished him well.

He could deal with this.

The cowboy tries to stand upright, stretching sore muscles ever so slowly, but one wrong move sends a tweak of burning pain into his abdomen and all of his progress is lost.

Jesse settles for the countertop again.

Reasonably, he should call someone. Mercy for meds or Hanzo for help getting back to his room where he can lay down with the heating pad tucked halfway under his sweatpants, alleviating his body’s untimely betrayal.

Perhaps betrayal isn’t the right word. His heat is a fact of life - cramping, sluggishness, a dull ache everywhere as his body prepares - and not some biological warfare waged on him by an enemy.  He’s used to it, hell, it used to be worse. Jesse clearly remembers a similar kitchen in a similar base where his young legs had gone out from underneath him when a cramp racked him with pain.

Even now, he clearly recalls wishing he was shot instead, at least it had hurt less.

It’s not the same for everyone, some lucky bastards hardly even get cramps with their heat, but not Jesse.

The first day - today - is always the worst as far as pain. It builds as pressure on his hips and at the base of his neck, pulling his spine taut between the two locations. Sitting hurts, laying down is worse, the best thing he’s found is to just fold himself in half, stretch the muscles lining his back.

He jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder- he hadn’t heard anyone approaching.

“You are ill, McCree?”

He glances up and finds Zaryanova with her eyebrows drawn in concern. He’s never been one for bitching and moaning about his heats, he’s been living with them for coming on thirty years and he learned early on in his days that complaining about it all usually got you nowhere, or worse: coddled like a delicate doll.

Jesse grunts in reply, watches as she slings her bag onto the counter beside him with a shaking thud. She unzips a pocket on the inside and digs out a small bottle with a pink label, a well known rabbit logo curled on its exterior.

Pain pills - specifically ones for heat cramps.

Zarya gives him an assured smile, sympathetic but not pitying of his situation. “I always carry spares. You never know who will need them.” She says, shaking a few of the pills into her palm. She glances at him, rotates the bottle and reads the label, and then shakes out a few more. “Low strength, if it worries you.”

She puts the pills on the counter and reaches over to fill his glass up with water again. “Take them soon, before your cramps get worse.” She claps his shoulder lightly as she draws her bag up on her shoulder and takes her leave.

He waits a bit before attempting to stand again, keeps himself to a half stooped over lean as he pops half of the pills in his mouth and takes a gulp of water to wash them down. The pills themselves aren’t bad, but they leave an aftertaste like the end of a battery.

Jesse considers his next steps, where he needs to go next to get through this heat as easily as possible. The medbay comes first; he’ll need more pain pills, and as he works himself to fully stand and grimaces, he amends he’ll need pills to control the amount of slick he’s producing.

He’s fairly certain he’s already ruined this pair of leather pants and he can feel the damp, uncomfortable fabric rub against his inner thighs - as soon as he begins walking, he’ll be chafed to hell and back from the friction.

Laundry. He hasn’t done laundry in a while and he’ll want to wash pants, shirts, and sheets after his visit. He’ll be needing all he can get his hands on.

Quickly, he shoots Angela a warning text.

          | _emergency visit need bunny kit_

He doesn’t quite take his time getting there, but he doesn’t rush it either. He feels too small for his skin, his muscles twitch every so often and threaten to seize. Aches settle in a buzzing constant as he curses himself- why, he asks himself repeatedly on the trip over, why did he see the need to venture out of his room today?

Angela is a saint, inside and out. She greets him at the door of the medbay, a small pink medbag with a bunny logo hopping across its surface in her hand.

Jesse can’t help the sigh of relief when he sees her. “Thank goodness,”

She whaps the bag against his shoulder, the pills rattling inside the bag like a sweet symphony of promised relief. “You should be more prepared for this, Jesse.” She chides him, slipping it into his waiting hand.

“Thought I had a few more months at least. You know me, Angie, always been irregular.”

She purses her lips, gaze boring into him in a way that speaks miles about her desire to examine him, try to figure out why his heats have no predictable interval- and not even semi-predictable within a few months. “How often?” She pries instead.

“Usually get one a year, sometimes none if I’m lucky.”

“And now?”

He can’t help the red that flushes across his cheeks. He really shouldn’t be embarrassed around her, Angela has never been anything but kind with him and his body - her examinations treated him with a sense of consideration and care, like he wasn’t a medical enigma, and she certainly didn’t wave him off and assume everything functioned like a beta’s body would.

“Three within the year.”

“Jesse,” Concern colors her face, her hands wring together almost as if she wished she still held the bag, if only to beat him with it once more for his bullheadedness. “You should have come to see me sooner.”

He shakes his head. “Irregular, remember?”

The way she puffs up, he knows she’ll give him a mouthful - care about his body and its warning signs. It’s not that she doesn’t believe he can take care of himself, but she remembers a time when he very clearly wouldn’t. New to Blackwatch and Overwatch, body on the verge of a nasty infection if he didn’t clean himself up, he knows she worries that he’ll fall back into that state if given the time and neglect.

“That’s irregular even for irregular.”

Jesse waits for it, the demand that he come inside now, strip down and let her take a look. He thinks of the excess slick he produces- despite her medical professionalism and close friendship, he feels sick about letting someone see how messy he gets within an hour during his heat. Even though it’s just the first day and the sensitivity hasn’t set in, he shudders to think of any medical instruments testing around.

But she doesn’t ask him to do anything, puts a gentle hand on his arm and sighs. “We can discuss it more when you’re feeling better.” He nods. “Good.” She gives him a satisfied smile. “Now you know the drill, water, rest, and food.”

“Yes ma’am.” He bends down, gives her a kiss on the cheek for her kindness and heads for his room.

The small dormitory style room is sparse, but if he’s fair, he doesn’t exactly live here full time anymore. It’s become more of a storage space over the past months than something that’s his. He prefers to sleep in Hanzo’s bed, usually, aside from his heat where he knows that even just a nap will make a mess.

Jesse nearly tosses himself onto his bed when he gets into his room, but the uncomfortable wetness in his pants reminds him that even if he doesn’t do laundry right this moment, the very least he can do is take the damn things off.

He shucks his pants, and those peel away easily enough, but his boxer briefs stick to him slightly causing him to grimace. He may have long grown used to his heat, but he will always curse his body for the copious amounts of slick it likes to produce- far more than necessary even if he was trying to breed.

The cowboy considers sweatpants, but knows that it’s still too early in his heat and they won’t last long. Fatigue pulls at him, sapping him of the resolve and his pants and underwear are quickly tossed in a corner. He’ll get to it all later.

He throws back the covers, fetches two towels from the bathroom and lays them horizontally over his sheets, folded over top of each other. He can’t be asked to dig out his heating pad at this point, but readies a glass of water, thinks for a moment, and grabs another because he knows he won’t want to get up.

The Bunny Kit is opened, he sets out a few more pills for cramps, takes the one that helps control slick production - despite its lack of effectiveness on his system - and then lays down on his stomach.

Belatedly, he realizes he’s still wearing his hat and his shirt, but the mess shouldn’t be that bad today, and his shirt is soft and cotton and warm. He paws for the brim of his stetson, gracelessly tossing it towards the desk at the far end of his room- missing it completely. It lands with a dull thunk on the floor somewhere, but he calls it good enough. Coupled with the fact that he desperately wants to sleep this heat away, he makes no move to get up and fix it.

His dick is trapped somewhere between his body and the towels, more hard than not, and the slight pressure feels wonderful. He’s thankful to be relieved from the confines of his pants, the cool air feeling like heaven over his warmed skin. It’s a happy medium while he waits for the lull of sleep.

The pain pills finally kick in, his body relaxing and Jesse groans, letting himself drift off for a quick nap.

-

It might have been more than a doze, because when he wakes up Hanzo is walking in with a clean basket of laundry. He sets it down on the floor by the door and comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside Jesse, running his fingers through the cowboy’s hair. Jesse grunts and smiles at the affection.

“Careful darlin’ or I’ll fall back asleep.”

Hanzo knits his eyebrows together. “You did not text me.”

“I figured you were still busy,” Jesse rumbles, tilting his head back against hanzo’s hand. “‘ain’t like I’ve never been on my own for them before.”

The other man doesn’t appear to be soothed by the thought, but gives a small nod. It’s a discussion they’ve had before: Jesse doesn’t like feeling dependant during his heats, but at the same time Hanzo only wants to make things easier on him. The conclusion they came to boiled down to constant communication- it worked out well for them.

“How long ya been here?”

Hanzo slips his hand down, thumb and forefinger rubbing at the base of his skull. Jesse sighs under the attention, relaxing into the care Hanzo shows him. “Three hours roughly. I did the laundry so you would not have to.”

Jesse can’t help his smile from widening. He’s told Hanzo in passing about how he handles his heats. The laundry, the reassurance of a large pile of clean clothes and blankets is a big part of his comfort, remembering very clearly a span of years where he went without it. And here’s his partner, keeping the small details of what makes him happy.

The gunslinger tucks one arm under his the pillow that his head rests on, the other twisting awkwardly to reach back. The archer takes it, lacing their fingers together. He guides their joined hands to a more comfortable position at jesse’s shoulder , and leans over as he continues to work his other hand down the gunslinger’s neck.

He hits the junction of his shoulders and Jesse grunts, tender from the cramps that had him folded over earlier.

“I know,” Hanzo murmurs, sinking his thumb into his muscles. He methodically works out the dense knots that he can reach from Jesse’s shirt collar.

When he stops, Jesse shifts, untangles their hands and pushes up. “I can take this off-” But he’s cut off by being pressed back down to the mattress. Hanzo’s hand is spread  wide between his shoulder blades, a steady pressure that can easily be pushed away if he wanted.

“Keep it, you are comfortable?”

Jesse nods, settles back into the bed. The movement reminds him of his dick, still pressing into the towels and coming to full attention between Hanzo’s movements and himself. “Ya gonna keep goin’?”

“Would you like me to?”

The gunslinger swallows “Yeah,” And the archer’s hands slide up under his shirt, rucking the fabric up as he reaches his shoulder blades. “Your hands are the best things on earth, darlin’.”

He can hear the smirk in Hanzo’s voice. “I will remember you said that.”

Inch by inch he can feel the length of his back being tended to by skillful hands, warming him as he relaxes further into the mattress. Jesse prides himself on his ability to resist making a slew of filthy noises as Hanzo works at him. But there’s nothing that can save him from making a loud, pleased moan when sinful thumbs dig into the muscles right above his pelvis.

The slick between his legs gushes, makes him jolt and regret not putting a third towel down. Belatedly, he wishes he’d demanded to change out the ones he’s been laying on.

In one swift motion, accented by a deep hum, Hanzo straddles the backs of his thighs and continues his torturous ministrations. He leans in close enough for Jesse to feel the archer’s lips ghost against his neck, not hesitating to tease him as he digs into his tense muscles, releasing knots in a way that borders on the painful side of pleasure. Now that the initial burst has come, Jesse can’t stop the litany of sounds he produces.

Gasps, groans, and moans. They’re as much a sign of his satisfaction as they are pleasure for Hanzo to hear. It’s a theory he’s proven many times over, riling the archer to the point of no return on his sounds alone- tested once in bed, tested many more over food and downtime, which funnily enough a handful later found the two of them in bed.

All too soon, the archer lifts off his legs, and Jesse is prepared to growl and fight until Hanzo returns and continues working on his back- right up until he feels his legs being spread apart.

Exposed, Jesse buries his face in his pillow, all will to bluster leaving him as quickly as it came. It’s nothing new to Hanzo, nothing he hasn’t seen of him before, the archer has even seen the slick, but never in this capacity. Up until now, Jesse’s made sure of it.

Hanzo inhales sharply behind him, and Jesse doesn’t have to look to know he’s staring openly, hungrily and unashamed.

The cowboy recalls the first night he let Hanzo in on the little secret of the goods he was packing, the archer spent long, blissful hours exploring all of Jesse’s bits and pieces- what felt best for the cowboy when touched, kissed, licked, and tugged. Everything he tried, the archer asked if Jesse enjoyed it and eagerly continued when Jesse spurned him on the right track.

Jesse knew after the first few hours of Hanzo’s experimentation that he’d made a good decision letting the archer into his life.

He’s brought out of his lull by teeth nipping at his asscheek, “Are you with me, Jesse?” Hanzo’s hands grip him tightly where his ass meets his legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the junction of his inner thighs.

“Yeah,” He rumbles, muffled by the pillow. He turns his head to the side, trying to look down the length of his body to see Hanzo laying prettily between his legs. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“May I continue?”

Jesse doesn’t mean for his voice to come out as needy as it sounds, a strangled “Please,” slipping out before he buries his face in his pillow once again.

Hanzo chuckles and kisses where he bit softly at jesse’s skin. He spreads his ass, kneading into the flesh as he does; the massage isn’t over, it’s only just gained a new component. “How much have you cleaned?”

“Everythin’ and the kitchen sink.”

The archer hums, pleased, and wastes no time getting to work, burying his face between Jesse’s cheeks, pressing his tongue against him. His facial hair will rub, probably leave him sore, but in the long run, the burn is worth every second with Hanzo’s talented mouth.

Jesse tries to rut back against his tongue, wants to urge him to go further than lapping around and over it, but Hanzo’s grip on his ass not only serves to spread him wide, but to hold him down. It only causes Jesse to stir more, buck harder- he’s a large man, and the fact that the archer has enough strength to keep him down thrills him more than it ought to.

Hanzo gives him an assuring squeeze, pulling away briefly to kiss and nip at the crest of his ass before diving back in. Whether it’s because he knows what Jesse wants, or because he simply deems that he should take the next step, Hanzo’s tongue begins to probe him. It doesn’t take long for him to ease in, working his tongue and making Jesse moan as he tries to press his face closer.

His hands slip from Jesse’s ass, down to his inner thighs, his thumbs traveling along the outskirts of his groin. Slowly, he travels further, humming delightedly when he finds slick. The sound produces vibrations against Jesse’s hole, causing him to shudder and gasp into his pillow, helpless to everything the archer does.

It shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does, but Hanzo’s thumbs press to the lips of his slit, massaging circles into the area and thumbing at his soft folds.

Jesse doesn’t even have to imagine that the archer’s thumbs are covered in his slick.

“H-Hanzo,” He says, trying to get the man’s attention, looking over his shoulder. He wants to let the archer know that he doesn’t have to go that far if Jesse’s too messy for him- but the words die in the back of his throat when Hanzo looks up from his job.

The slick is all over the archer’s finely trimmed beard and lower lip, and he quickly darts his tongue out to taste more. His expression morphs from voracious to concerned in a heartbeat, his hands pulling back to the outsides of Jesse’s thighs- the cowboy shivers at the loss of his warm touch.

“Is it too much?”

Jesse shakes his head. “No-” His voice stutters, his throat dry. “No I- It’s good. Hell, better than good. Great.” He takes in a deep breath, holds back the worry over what Hanzo thinks of him. Clearly the man is enjoying himself, enjoying everything Jesse’s body has to offer him. “Please- don’t stop.”

Hanzo kisses the back of his thigh, nosing it and licking his lips a playful smile. “As you wish.”

Just like that, he’s right back in it- face to Jesse’s ass, eating him with abandon, and his hands teasing maddeningly between his thighs.

The cowboy huffs and groans into the air, lacking the will or want to turn his face back into his pillow. He doesn’t have much of a view, but he can see enough- the way Hanzo ruts into the mattress as he works Jesse into a needy frenzy.

There isn’t enough, his body tells him. Not enough friction, not enough filling him; Hanzo’s tongue is nice but it can only do so much and he wants more. He arches his hips up, shoving himself further back hoping to find purchase.

But Hanzo pulls away suddenly, paws at Jesse’s hips. “Lift,” he instructs, sliding a pillow beneath his abdomen once the gunslinger has gone high enough. “Perfect,” He kisses at the dip in Jesse’s back, wipes his hands on the towels beneath them before kneading at hair covered thighs. He hadn’t realized how much he was shaking. “You will tell me if I should stop?”

“Yeah,”

Hanzo drags the pad of his thumb down his slit, as if considering his options before he flicks his wrist and slowly presses a thick finger into Jesse, eased by the slick that spills readily from his body. The digit works him at a leisurely pace, makes sure Jesse’s relaxed before Hanzo adds another. “You are always so wet.” The archer growls, peppering the gunslinger’s thighs with lazy, open mouthed kisses.

Jesse rocks back into Hanzo’s fingers as best he can with the other man’s weight keeping his legs still. It’s more of a small shimmy, but his cock finds the smallest amount of friction against the pillow and the desire to grind against the cushion is not nearly as great as the desperate need for more of Hanzo’s talented fingers.

“The most perfect man I have ever laid my eyes on.” The archer continues when he adds a third, chuckling at Jesse’s deep groan of satisfaction. “You are simply marvelous.” To drive his point home, Hanzo ducks down, flattening his tongue to where his fingers stretch the cowboy out.

He shouts, a ragged sound that draws out into a keen when Hanzo all but feasts on what he can reach, working at Jesse with his mouth like a man possessed.

“Babe,” Jesse gasps.

Hanzo crooks his fingers just right, presses with such precision inside of the cowboy that Jesse shouts, and from then on the archer is relentless.

Versus the long minutes they took rousing the gunslinger, he shudders, crests to his peak quickly as Hanzo expertly fingers him, all the while ravenously licking up the slick that Jesse leaks. The archer’s arms trap his legs and lock him in place. There’s not much he can do other than press back as his body draws tight, muscles tensing and spasming as he comes- an electric feeling that rolls him in waves and makes his head swim. It’s a feeling that takes it’s leave all too quickly, satisfied but hungry for more of what Hanzo has to give.

The archer lets out a satisfied hum, pulls away only to help the cowboy, swimming in his haze, and roll him onto his back. He takes a dry edge of the towel and cleans jesse’s slicked thighs, stealing lazy licks as he goes, unwilling to give up the taste.

It doesn’t stop flowing, not so long as Jesse is within his heat and being stimulated, and he has to push the archer away when he grows too sensitive, even for the soft little laps Hanzo showers him with.

Huffing, the archer wipes his hands and chin on the towels before rising, disappearing into the en suite bathroom and returning with a washed face and clean linen.

With what’s left of his strength, Jesse lifts his hips so Hanzo can take away the pillow and replace the dirty towels. Somehow Jesse manages to wiggle out of his shirt, toss it aside somewhere to be forgotten. And sometime after Hanzo crawls into bed with him, lays draped over his side and carding his fingers through the gunslinger’s chest hair. The archer’s dick is still hard against his thigh.

“Hanzo, you-” The cowboy tries to turn, intending to help Hanzo’s situation out. “Let me-.”

The archer shifts, holds him at bay“It is alright- there will be more than enough time.” Hanzo rests his chin just at the crook of his neck. “I have had my fill for today.”.

Jesse begins to laugh but it quickly dies in his throat when Hanzo continues, “This is your heat, Jesse, it is about your needs, not mine.”

Blanks. He stops and blinks, looking down at the archer. Growing up he remembers many high tales of the old days, horror stories, and he had the unfortunate luck of living somewhere where tradition still held it’s ground. Jesse presses his cheek to the top of the archers head and pulls him closer. Long ago he only dreamed of partners that’d treat him like this. He was more than glad for Hanzo’s company, more than he had words for.

He nudges the archer until he looks up and pulls him into a kiss, smiling soft. “I gotta be the luckiest man alive to land you, babe.”

“It was your choice to have me, Jesse. But you should rest, we will have something to eat after.”

Jesse snorts before he can think better of it. “I would think yer full with the meal you just had.”

Hanzo looks up at him suddenly, an unreadable expression across his face. He narrows his eyes, stares long enough that the gunslinger is entirely certain he’s made a fatal mistake. “Not nearly enough, if you ask me.”

By the time he processes his partner’s words, Hanzo breaks contact and snorts, settling back into his collar.

“But we will find something, I am sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Big smooches to Akirata for helping develop this universe and for being the best editor a Frosty could have <3
> 
> Tumblr: ryuu-ga-waga-go-fuck-yourself  
> Twitter: @FrostyRekt  
> 


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